The Emperor's Robes
by Princess-Arulmozhi
Summary: While in the middle of a tunic-fit session, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn is called to a mission briefing by the Council.


**A/N:**

**Regarding the reviews for 'In the Eyes of the beholder…'**

**Jedi Keliam Kenobi** : Thank you :)  
**A. NuEvil** : Thanks for the wishes – glad you like it. :)  
**amber75** : Thanks :)  
**mar-isu** : Yep, the difference is what I hoped to bring out. Thanks :)  
**master kaym** : Aha. So it worked for my story. Wahoo!  
**Lacey**: Welcome, and thank you :). Am glad it appealed to you. Hah, I'm probably envious as well – probably why I was able to write Tyree easily :)  
**The ****dancing Cavalier**: Thanks. :)

* * *

**Note: **What you're going to read, was produced during a sudden fit of nostalgia. And a desperate urge to write something involving one regal Jedi master. There's no other excuse. :)

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**The Emperor's Robes**

(or)

**Of Unique Skills and Serenity…**

Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn squinted.

It was not an expression he favoured—he usually preferred a less… 'expressive' expression, as he told himself wryly. Sometimes, however, it was difficult to keep one's eyebrows, lips and nose in perfect control. It was possible to achieve this through rigorous practice, aided by boredom, during negotiations, meetings, briefings, and mediations…but a tunic-fitting session was something else altogether.

He quelled a brief impulse to twitch—which was nevertheless noticed by his apprentice, as evidenced by the slightest of creases that appeared amidst his eye-brows.

"Are you done yet, padawan?" He asked, eyes roving through the transparisteel embrasures, at the shuttle-traffic that skimmed through air-lanes of Coruscant. Evening was settling its golden sheen through the planet, and the room was awash in its gentle light. Qui-Gon felt an immense urge to walk to the gardens, and settle in meditation, contemplating the almost divine beauty of the Living Force.

"Not yet, master."

"Ah." The master sighed. "Will it take long?"

Jedi padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi raised crystalline eyes to his erstwhile patient teacher, and smiled. "It will take as long as it should, master."

Qui-Gon folded his arms, and frowned at the apprentice, kneeling calmly at his feet. "While I'm gratified by your skill in evading questions, padawan, I would appreciate it if you—ah—resorted to a more direct way of answering _my_ queries," he said severely.

"I _was_ being more direct."

"How so?"

"Isn't truth an indicator of directness?"

Qui-Gon repressed the urge to utter an un-masterly retort, and decided on a direful frown, instead. "You choose the most inopportune moments to exhibit your mastery over diplomacy, young one."

"You do, after all, insist that there's a lesson to be learnt from even the smallest incident."

While master Jinn appreciated candour and sincerity at all times, this was neither the right time nor place, he felt, to hear his own lessons being repeated to him. But he would not admit defeat. Patience was a lesson his padawan hadn't learnt very well yet—and he, Qui-Gon Jinn, would show that he was still the master at it.

Accordingly, the Jedi Master spent the next fifteen minutes staring alternatively at the floor, the ceiling, his shelves which held all of his meagre possessions, the air-traffic, and his padawan's red-gold head, glinting brightly in the evening sun. At the end of it, Obi-Wan Kenobi sat back, resting his arms on the floor.

"Done," he said. Relief was evident—as was a certain apprehension. And it was well-founded, judging by Qui-Gon's incredulous look.

The master stared at his apprentice, at himself and back at the padawan. "Obi-Wan," he began carefully—master he may be, but there was still room for error—"Are you sure?"

Obi-Wan frowned at the appearance his master presented. "It—er—may not be up to Temple standards…but I'm sure practice will make perfect. Eventually." He looked at his master hopefully.

Qui-Gon had opened his mouth to reply, when the com-link chirped. The master opened a channel, listened, and closed it after a while.

"The Council wishes to see me at once," he said.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in horror—an expression, which, had Qui-Gon not been the master, would have been tempted to emulate. "Master…" The apprentice bowed his head at once. "I truly am sorry."

"You appear to be certain that I have no alternative."

"But you don't."

Master Jinn breathed deeply. "More instances of your candour I do not need, young one."

"Yes, master." Obi-Wan's eyes gleamed. "Are you…ah…leaving right away?" he gestured vaguely.

"Procrastination was never one of my faults, Obi-Wan."

"Yes, but…"

"And a Jedi is always a Jedi, regardless of circumstances. Let this be a lesson to you, padawan."

"Yes master." There was genuine remorse in Obi-Wan's voice.

"And you will meditate, while I'm away."

"Yes, master."

"For four hours. On your wrongs. And how to right them."

The voice was subdued, but the eyes were not. Obi-Wan stood up, led the way to the common area, and opened the door—and Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn exited their quarters gracefully.

* * *

Ignoring his peers and juniors who greeted him along the way, Master Jinn arrived at the Council Chambers, awaited his call, and swept inside the Chambers regally. 

Inside, the twelve exalted Council members, the most revered of the Jedi masters, and who decided the fate of thousand of knights, masters and padawans both within the Temple, and without, were seated. All were masters of the Force, and all, without doubt, were experts in the art of masking their true feelings and emotions. They were representatives, after all, of what a Jedi should be—and knew that the Jedi stoicism must not be forsaken, at any time.

"Greetings Master Jinn," murmured Master Koon, behind his mask—and stopped. Master Ki-Adi-Mundi—he of the binary brain—raised his well-trimmed, nevertheless bushy eye-brows, while master Rancisis widened his eyes—as far as his facial features allowed. Master Windu made as if to speak, but closed his mouth again. The rest affected astonishment, perplexity and, in Master Billaba's case, a thread of confusion. Master Yoda—he who had seen centuries—seemed unperturbed. To the well-trained, however, the gleam in his large, bulbous eyes would not have gone unnoticed.

"Wished to brief you about a mission, we did, master Qui-Gon," came his hoarse voice, and Master Jinn bowed—as much as he was able. "But brought our attention to another matter, you have."

Master Jinn searched for an appropriate response, and finally came up with a reasonably impressive "Ah."

"Appearances may be deceptive, Master Jinn," spoke up Master Billaba—whose confusion was fast turning into something else altogether. "As Jedi, we are required, often, to project an aura of…efficiency, and control."

Qui-Gon raised his eyes to the ceiling briefly. _I have never yet resorted to violent methods of disciplining padawans…_

"Aware, we were not, of shortage of cloth for attire," finished Master Yoda.

As if on cue, all twelve masters trained their eyes and attention on Jedi master Qui-Gon Jinn, whose leggings fell in a mass of cloth over his boots; whose sleeves—one of which hung loose from his finger, while the other ended somewhere below his elbow, and his cloak, one end of which swept the floor, while the other barely clung to his shoulder.

Altogether, he presented an…_interesting_ appearance, and Master Jinn knew it. He also knew that an explanation was owed to the twelve quizzical beings who were, even now, waiting for one.

"I have always believed in teaching varied skills to my apprentice, my masters," he began, and had the satisfaction of watching Master Windu's eyes widen. "I have, therefore, begun to give Obi-Wan lessons in…sewing."

A stupefied silence was his response, and he plunged in, before it could be interrupted. "No skill can be learnt in one sitting, and one must always be—ah—open to experiments," he spoke, rich baritone ringing out in the Chambers. "Besides, my masters, today is my life-day, and I could not refuse my padawan's pleas, to…er…practice his newly acquired skills." He paused. "With respect, masters, I cannot belittle my padawan's efforts—and I would have been guilty of doing so, had I refused to wear this…attire." _Add to that the fact that we've just returned from a mission, and Obi-Wan, in a fit of cleaning, has bundled all our clothes off to the Temple laundry Rooms._

Long minutes of pregnant silence passed by…and then, master Yoda spoke. "Wise, you are, master Qui-Gon," spoke the wizened master, "but restrict yourself, you will, to experiments within your…quarters."

If Master Jinn heard a snort, quickly suppressed, he wisely chose to ignore it. His training and inherent calm carried him through the briefing, at the end of which he bowed—with difficulty—and shuffled out of the Chambers, mind struggling through emotions that varied from wild indignation to thoughts of strangling one particularly clumsy apprentice.

And then stopped, in mid-stride, as a comment reached his mind. Uttered by a connoisseur, no doubt.

_'Only he would look like a King, while dressed like a peasant.'_

He was not aware of who had uttered the remark—but it had chosen to infiltrate his mind, nevertheless. He would never know if he had been meant to hear it—perhaps it had been.

_A Jedi master shall not know vanity_, he thought. _Most of the time._ A smile touched his lips as he thought about a certain remorseful padawan meditating on his woes.

Involuntarily rising to his full height, Master Qui-Gon Jinn pulled his cloak around himself—as much as it would permit him—cast, about him, a look much in the manner of a ruler surveying his loyal subjects...and swept away down the corridor.

THE END.


End file.
